In Memory of Rita

One of my mom's life long friends killed herself yesterday.  Committed suicide is too pretty a term.  Killed herself.  Hung herself in a stairwell.

During the whole drive home from our Easter visit today, I searched to find the right words for a post like this.  There simply aren't any.  Yet I feel like I need to say something.  I need to write something.  I have to get it out in the best way I know how.

How does a woman in her early sixties come to such a gruesome end?  I just can't wrap my head around it.  Especially Rita.  She was one of the toughest women I've ever known.

Life kicked her.  And kicked her some more.  And kicked her again for fun when she was already down.  But she took it in stride.  She played the cards she was dealt and always stole the pot.  Some how.  Some way.  This time she folded.  

She grew up in a mentally abusive household.  An alcoholic, nasty, miserable excuse for a father.  A submissive mother who let him get away with it.  A crazy bum of a brother.  And by crazy, I don't mean the fun way.  But she survived them.

She endured failed marriages and raising her son entirely on her own.  She worked hard, she ploughed through, and made it.  Taking shit from anyone wasn't on her list.  She would tell it like it was and spared no words for anyone who wronged her.  She stood up for herself.  She fought for all she had.  She struggled more than anyone should ever have to.

Bad luck was her only luck.  The hell with Murphy's Law.  It should be called Rita's Law.  Imagine the dumbest, craziest, most off-the-wall thing that you can.  I can almost guarantee it happened to Rita.

And through all this, anyone reading along would imagine a cranky, bitter woman who absorbed life's beatings and lashed back at all humanity.  But the exact opposite was true.

She laughed.  Actually giggled.  She had one of those infectious little chuckles that would suck you in to laugh along with her.  She smiled.  One of those sweet, natural smiles.  Never forced.  Always sincere.  She joked about her luck in life.  Whenever anything went wrong, and it always did, she picked herself up, brushed herself off, relayed the story to her friends in a manner that could've been delivered on a stand-up comedy stage, and she got back in the ring for another round.

She had a kind word for everyone in her company.  She never hesitated to give a compliment.  She told people how beautiful they looked, how smart they were, how nice they were... repeatedly and with sincerity.  Right to their faces.  Not many people can do that.  Not many people take the time to brighten someone else's day.  Especially when life is kicking them in the ass.  But Rita did.  And she wasn't just saying things to be nice.  She meant every word.

She wore her heart on her sleeve and would give you the shirt off her back if you needed it.  No matter what she was facing in her life, she never turned her back on a friend.  And she had friends.  So many friends.  A regular social butterfly she was.  She loved people and loved to talk.  Sometimes it was hard to get a word in with Rita, but when you did, she was listening and there to help.

Life dealt it's last fatal blows over the past few years.  She lost her job and her third marriage failed after thirteen years.  She was already wallowing in a deep depression when he walked out on her for another woman.  Normally for her, these things wouldn't have been more than minor speed bumps on the road.  She would've told him to screw himself.  Plain and simple.  She would've moved back home to be closer to her son and her friends.  She would've gotten another job.  She would've spent the next few months effing him up an down.  Life would've gone on.

This time it was different.  The depression that had been looming sucked her into a dark place and she couldn't climb out...  She lost herself.  Her fight was gone.  Her spunk was gone.  It took her sweet smile and infectious laugh.  All that remained was a shell of a person totally alien to those who knew her and loved her.

Friends tried to help.  They tried everything they could to reach her hand and pull her out of the hole that consumed her.  The truth is, nothing they did or could've done would've have made any difference where she was.  She was too deep to reach.  She heard their words, but couldn't understand their meaning.  She felt their love, but it couldn't warm her.  The boxing gloves were within reach, but she no longer had the strength to fight.

Her family history of mental illness left her terrified at the prospects.  She feared she would be locked up forever.  She was sick and needed help, but the system failed her.  She made several attempts in the last few months to end it all, yet each time she grabbed the bottom rung of the ladder before it was too late.  She had been seeing a doctor.  He knew the story.  He had the facts.  He refused to have her committed.  She had no insurance.

So the end came in a stairwell on a holiday weekend.  She found a way to escape once and for all, to the utter devastation of her son and friends.  

Rita, I will remember you as a firecracker.  As a force to be reckoned with... As a good mom who did all she could to raise her son on her own.  As a true and loyal friend that was loved by everyone.  I will never forget that smile.  I will always hear that giggle.  I'll never fully grasp the depths of you sorrow or all that led to your decision, but I hope you found the peace you so desperately hoped for and needed.  And I'll never forget the pain on my mom's face when she answered the call on Saturday.  And I'm not sure yet if I can forgive you for that.  Rest in peace.